into the abyss

It always seems easier this way.
To go from intensity of feeling that scares me in its depth, to the inability to comprehend anything, let alone feelings--sitting in front of a canyon of nothingness, dropping stones that never sound.
Then it cycles back, and it's all a rush.  I want to smoke a million cigarettes and feel the smooth black squares beneath my fingers as they sail over top.  I want to feel vodka burn my throat and step over the yellow line waiting for the A train.  I want to taste your rejection and wear it like a cloak of bruises around my throat.
Then again into the abyss.  Waves of emptiness crashing into nothing.  I am so barren I never knew the feeling of fullness.
And so it oscillates, the blind man becomes the sniper, the perfect shot becomes the glossy-eyed cataracts receiving all and comprehending nothing.
The tune varies, yes, but the madness is always lying in wait beneath. 
Come to me, the voices say, come and know no torment such as this.